| lupercus in nocturne_alley @ 2003-04-16 18:10:00 |
Werewolves: Final Segment
This will be your final werewolf lesson. Please put away your books and quills, as you will not need them.
This is my identification number.
I don't know if any of you have seen it before; I tend to keep it covered. It was given to me on 11 June, 1966, the day after I was bitten. My parents and I had eaten dinner in the garden, because it was a warm night. The full moon was up, but as there hadn't been any werewolf sightings in our village for centuries we were not worried. We should have been. The creature took us by surprise. My father was able to kill him, but not before I was bitten. My parents were of course devastated.
I was taken to the Ministry where my bite was documented, and I was given my number. Then the Ministry advised my parents to send me to St Mungo's. It is not uncommon for parents to have werewolf children committed as raising them can be very traumatising, not to mention expensive. However lucky for me my parents would hear none of it, and they fought the Ministry for many long months to be allowed to keep me at home.
Not that it was much of a home anymore. I was not allowed outside not because I was of any danger to anyone but because of the danger people were to me. Naturally the Ministry notified the village of the presence of a werewolf among them, and my family endured much harassment by the community. Rocks flung at the windows, obscenities painted on the fence, dead animals left on the stoop. My mother was convinced that if I were to venture out of doors I would be captured and killed, and so she kept me inside for close to a year.
My transformations when I was small were horrid. My father tried to put a Memory Charm on me after each one but they were afraid of doing permanent damage, and so they had to stop. I remember terrific pain, overwhelming fear, and somewhere beyond that, the sound of my mother crying. I was locked in the celler from moonrise to sunrise. It would take weeks to recover - just in time for another one. I spent a lot of time in bed, reading, or having my father - a Mathemagician - teach me, since I was not allowed to go to school anymore.
As I said, keeping a werewolf child is very expensive. My parents fought a very long battle with the Ministry about my future, not to mention they scoured the globe for a cure. Eventually their savings was exhausted, and my father was forced to take a very dangerous job that paid a lot of gold. He left us when I was seven, promising to return with enough Galleons to keep us all going. He never did; he was killed a month later on the job.
My father's death hit my mother very hard. Grief consumed her, somehow I think it was a lot like how the wolf dominated me. She didn't think she could take care of me any longer, and so when I was eight she sent me away to St Mungo's, the only place that would take me. I think she thought she was doing the right thing by me, in sending me there. They probably told her that I would be under good care. She herself went to live with her mother, and try to recover. She never did. A year later, she died.
Life at St Mungo's was, to be honest, complete hell. I lived in a dormitory - not unlike you - only this was a dormitory for cursed children. Vampires, half-giants, people who'd been mutilated by a hex or driven insane by Crucio. I had no friends, because everyone there had their own demons, and even among the forgotten associating with werewolves is still taboo. I spent the majority of my time working, or learning my letters from a kind medi-witch, or being an experiment.
In her addled state my mother signed every bit of parchment they'd sent her, and without knowing she'd signed a release authorising Mungo's medi-wizards to use me in experiments. I underwent extreme trials to try and "draw" the curse out of me, or remove my scar in the hopes that would cure it, and other things. I was given foul potions that made me ill - I remember that summer all my hair fell out. Some of it still hasn't grown back. Supposedly it was all for "the good of my kind" but frankly I think it was bollocks - they never looked at me like a person but rather as something to be studied and poked and prodded, a little creature in a little cage.
Speaking of cages, that is how I spent every full moon. I was locked in a cage at sundown and left there until someone remembered to let me out the next day. On more than one occasion I would be forgotten. The longest I spent in the cage was a week, naked and cold and very hungry, and weakened by the transformations. Sometimes I would bite myself, and I would lay for hours and bleed, and wonder if I might die. Sometimes, I hoped that I would.
Then my mother died and my grandmother came for me. My mother had come from high wizard society, and though she chose a quiet and simply country life with my father, there was still quite a bit of the old society girl in her. She did not tell her mother that I had survived the werewolf attack, fearing that word of such a beast in the family would besmirch our name. My grandmother believed me dead until my mother passed on, and she discovered in her things the scrolls and scrolls of parchment detailing where I'd been sent. Once she found me, my grandmother came and brought me home and I grew up with her.
I'd love for that to be the happy ending, but it's not. Sorry.
I came to Hogwarts because my grandmother was an old friend of Albus Dumbledore's, and when it came time for my letter to be sent he came and delivered it personally. Between the two of them (and in large part thanks to Grandmum's wealth) they knew enough people at the Ministry to be able to grant me permission to attend school. I spent the seven happiest years of my life, here.
After Hogwarts... I couldn't find work, not even with a reference from Dumbledore, which should tell you something. I lived off my grandmother, which was very embarassing, but none of my friends seemed to care. Oh, and I had friends, wonderful friends - some of whom had just gotten married and had a child. I was of course insanely jealous, as I'm not permitted by law to do either, but I was happy for them and they considered me a part of their family, and so that was good. I looked after my grandmother and helped Albus with the Situation going on at the time, and though times were scary, life was actually not so bad. I'd seen worse, honestly.
Then, in one night, all my friends were gone, and I was completely lost.
Literally. I left my grandmother's and the wizarding world and went to London. I couldn't find work as a Muggle as I didn't know enough about them to be able to hack it, so I lived on the streets. Alleys, doorways, park benches, at least until winter. Then I went Below. I won't bore you with the details about that... I lived twelve years that way, until I got a letter (via rat, since owls can't go Below) from Dumbledore inviting me to teach. It was... a strange thing. But good.
I'd like to say that life's gotten easier since then and in ways it has, but in a lot of ways it's still the same. I don't want any of you to take for granted the situation you're in. You don't know how unusual it is for you to have a werewolf for a teacher. We're not really allowed to do that. I'm here because of Dumbledore's kindness, grace and probably a large amount of bribery. The Headmaster was one of the first and only people to ever show me any sort of acceptance for what I am and understanding that it's not anything I did by choice. A lot of people - even some of you - forget that.
If there's anything I want you to take with you from these lessons, beyond the practical, it is that regardless of what we are - werewolf, vampire, giant, Pureblood, Muggle-born or half-and-half - we are all here for the same purpose: to learn the artistry of our world and keep it alive. To be different and yet exist amongst ourselves as harmoniously as possible. You will encounter people in your life that you will not like, for whatever reasons, but I want you to be certain of those reasons - are they based on something they can control, or something beyond it? Are they someone else's reasons or your own?
Hatred is more powerful than any of the Unforgivables, and it can make you a darker creature than any sort of curse ever could. Use it lightly.
If anyone has any questions, I will be glad to answer them as best I can. I reserve the right not to answer everything, however. A man needs to keep some secrets.
Tonight you will all report to the Great Hall at 7:45pm. Professor Dumbledore will be on hand as will Professor Black, to answer your questions and keep an eye on the proceedings. I will be there too, but I won't be much for talking so I hope you are not offended if I don't say hello. At 8:19pm the full moon will rise and you will all witness a full werewolf transformation - don't worry, I will be very securely contained, and none of you will be in any sort of danger. You may take notes, if you like. After one half-hour, you may leave.
That's it for now. See you all later.
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